


Call You What You Are

by Greyhound



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Fisting, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Smut, mild exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 19:44:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16980645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyhound/pseuds/Greyhound
Summary: Drift calls Rodimus on his personal frequency with an unusual predicament and a request Rodimus is all too keen to fulfill.Shameless smut.





	Call You What You Are

**Author's Note:**

> helloooo and welcome to uh. whatever this is
> 
> i wanted to try out a new writing style and i haven't written smut in absolutely fuckin forever so i intended to write a sweet little snippet but uh. unfortunately this got too long and isn't a drabble at all but hey that's just what i do 
> 
> usually i name my fics after what i was listening to when i finished it but this one has an original title! woah! (that said i listened to nothing but death grips, busdriver, and 2011 skrillex whilst writing this. who knows)

Drift had been absent for quite a while - a good few days - always off somewhere with an excuse of something he had to do, duties he had to attend to. And Rodimus got it, of course he did! He was the slagging captain of this pit-damned vessel, of course he knew what it was like to have Primus-knows how many duties to attend to! 

That didn't mean that Rodimus wasn't allowed to pout about it though. Just a little! He missed his partner, missed hearing the airy comfort of his voice, missed the way Drift would let his guard down and allow his servos to trace over Rodimus' plating whilst in the privacy of their habsuite...

Okay, yeah, maybe Rodimus _was_ a little charged up.

But he was allowed to be, alright!? 

As he sank back in his seat, he was met with a familiar ping. What was that Earth saying? Speak of the devil, and he will...

Well, the finer details didn't matter, he had Drift on the line, and he wasn't about to turn him down. 

"Hey," Rodimus greeted simply as the frequency patched through, twisting in his desk chair to hook a knee over the arm. He was uncomfortably aware of the way his spoiler dug into the opposite arm and would have considered moving to the berth in order to be more comfortable, but that thought was rudely overtaken when he noticed Drift's odd venting.

Uneven, and weirdly deep.

Why? 

Rodimus didn't get a chance to ask before Drift shakily returned his greeting.   
"Hey, uh, Rodimus," Drift inquired - _inquired?_ \- all too quickly, voice trailing off into a shudder. Some part of Rodimus tried to recall what exactly it was Drift was off doing, but he was having to wade through a _lot_ of concern, and memory recall was definitely losing that battle. 

"What's going on?" Rodimus asked, brow furrowed as the pede not currently dangling found purchase against the floor, turning the chair through some angle or another. There was a beat before Drift responded, the sound of him swallowing down some oral solvent clear as day through the link. 

(If he weren't busy scooting himself round in circles in worry, Rodimus would probably have spent a nano-klik or two mulling over the last point. How did that work?)

"I didn't want to panic you, but, s'just..." Drift trailed off, into a low... _Whine?_ Primus, was he hurt? Was he okay? Drift never asked for help, not ever, and this fact alone injected ice into Rodimus' lines. He stiffened, spinal strut snapping as straight as a door frame, interjection tumbling from his mouth without a second thought. 

"Drift, where are you? What's going on? If I have to check every room and closet and Primus-knows-what-else on this slagging ship, I will, I-" 

"No!"

Now that caught Rodimus off guard, his rush of words halting whilst the metaphorical gears in his processor re-started up their grinding. His pede halted in its motion of pushing him round in lazy circles.

"No?"

"Listen, I'm not harmed in anyway, I promise- just let me speak. Can you do that?" A hum, pitched to showcase worry. Typical Rodimus. "Alright. I was helping Brainstorm with his latest creation. It's meant to disrupt sensory relays, screw it up, so a mech processes optical data as tactile and audio as olfactory and Primus knows what. Didn't quite go to plan." 

"What did he _do_ to you?"

"Rodimus, to put it bluntly, I've never been this horny in my life."

Once more Rodimus' thought process came to a crashing stop. _What?_

Horny? Like, the Earth term? Interesting choice of words. 

That still begged the question of where the slag Drift actually was (and why exactly Rodimus' processor had chosen to hang onto Drift's word choice, of all things).

And then, as if Drift was somehow patched directly into Rodimus' thoughts as opposed to just through a vocal frequency-   
"Please, Rodimus. I'm hiding in this fragging washracks and I don't know how long I can stay here." 

Oh, _slag_. The mental image of Drift, running red hot, stuck in a public washracks with his modesty panels snapped back, where anyone could walk in and see him... Arousal rolled over Rodimus, swamping him as his fans spun to life, but _first_ he had an inquiry to make and the question was off his glossa through more instinct than anything else. 

"What do you want, Drift?" Rodimus asked, words tumbling with a sense of urgency. Though he had an idea of where this was headed, he had to ask, had to make sure that above all, Drift was okay and getting what he needed. 

"I...I want you to help get me off." 

Rodimus couldn't help the rev of his engine at that. 

"Can you describe yourself for me? Like are you on the floor, is the solvent running?" Rodimus queried, voice littered with static anticipation, urgency slipping from his frame as he tried to bat aside his anxiety. If he was going to spin up a fantasy for Drift, he needed to know what he was working with and be able to give him his best, after all. 

"Yeah, I'm on the floor. No solvent, uh...Panels open." Excellent. Rodimus drank in the teasing tinge of neediness that curled the edges of Drift's voice, not being able to resist the urge to trace the digits of one servo down over the thigh slung over the arm of the chair, inching toward his crotch with uncharacteristic patience. Or, at the very least, something which resembled patience. 

(The illusion didn't last very long, and all too quickly Rodimus was running a finger over the seam of his panel. Oops.) 

Twisting a little more, Rodimus' hip and spoiler dug into the arm of the chair, and the niggling thought that he definitely should have moved over to the berth came back into frame, but frag it. Drift's panting felt like liquid heat beneath his plating and he had better things to be doing than re-maneuvering himself. 

"I bet your valve is dripping," Rodimus hummed, forcing his voice into a low drawl despite the rising patter of neediness welling within his abdomen. Sure, this was for Drift, but getting to spout such filth undoubtedly tempered his lust.

From the little gasp Drift made, he was hitting the mark. 

"I'm _so_ wet, Roddy," Drift groaned out, and if Rodimus pictured really hard, he could imagine the slick squelch of Drift running his digits between the lips of his valve, coating his fingers in his own lubricants...

Rodimus couldn't help the way his modesty paneling slid away, spike immediately beginning to pressurize. 

"Are you fingering yourself?" Rodimus asked, resisting the urge to hiss out as his digits encircled the base of his mostly-pressurized spike, his other servo considering entertaining the idea of playing with his anterior node, though he decided against it for Drift's sake. Drift needed that overload, and by Primus he was going to give it to him. 

"Mn, yeah, I've been fingering myself for a while," Drift audibly shuddered, voice arching as he presumably did something delightful with his fingers. 

Slag, Rodimus wished he could see him now. 

"A while, huh?" Rodimus murmured, voice dropping into a dark, smoky register, fingertips coming to trail up along the underside of his spike, "I bet you were fingering yourself when I first picked up, hm? So desperate that you were willing to frag yourself to just my voice." 

Drift let out a lustful little whine in response, the vocal link's clarity making Rodimus shudder; it were as if Drift were in his lap, under more of Rodimus' ministrations than just his words...Slag, yeah, he was drawing these noises out of Drift with just his words, wasn't he? 

The thought had him gripping his spike a little tighter than intended, and he bit back a moan. 

"Yes, yes - Primus," Drift groaned, voice all electric heat and static that went straight to Rodimus' array. 

Rodimus found himself hooking his thigh further over the arm of the chair, allowing him better access to his drooling valve. He ran a sole digit-tip around the port, teasing at his outer set of calipers with a certain easiness and letting out a low hum at the sensation. 

It simply wasn't enough, but he'd have to stay hungry for the moment. 

"Primus, Drift. What do you want me to do to you?" Rodimus asked, biting back a moan as he slid the tip of a finger into his valve, hooking it against his calipers and tugging just so, the frissons of pleasure skittering through his sensor-net beautifully accompanying the delicious little noises Drift was making. 

"Frag, anything, _Rodimus_ ," Drift moaned out, words tumbling over one another and syrupy with desperation. 

_Anything_ , he said? Well...

"I'd have to eat you out," Rodimus murmured, pressing his finger deeper into his valve with a slick squelch, "put your thighs over my shoulders and frag you with my tongue." Drift straight up _keened_ , a sharp, wispy sound, which had Rodimus digging the tip of his thumb into the end of his spike, slipping and gliding easily over the tip in the lubricants which continued to leak.

Slag, he wished so pit-damned bad he could see Drift right now. 

"Maybe I'd have you sit on my face," Rodimus continued, keeping his movements slow in a bold attempt at keeping his voice steady and sultry, "so I could feel the way your thighs trembled as you tried to grind down against my face, desperate for me to touch your node." Whatever Drift tried to say was mostly engulfed in heated static, indiscernible from his desire, and Rodimus' spark swelled with pride. 

(His spike also swelled, albeit with something a bit more carnal than pride.) 

All this self teasing, coupled with getting to sport utter filth, had Rodimus at the end of his tether, and dropping the last of his restraint he drove a second digit into his valve, thumb coming to grind into his anterior node with a pressure so slagging good he couldn't contain his cry. 

"S-slide my fingers into your valve, and Primus you're so wet I could hear the way it squelched," Rodimus found himself rambling, so enthralled he found himself bucking his hips as much as he could within the chair, uncertain whether to rock up against the servo on his spike or to rut down against the two fingers in his valve. 

Drift seemed to pick up the way Rodimus had trailed off, and audibly stifling a groan, he supplied, "how many fingers, Rodimus?" 

Oh, _slag_. 

"As many as you could take," Rodimus gritted out, all voice control ditched in favour of his desire bleeding through as the tip of a third digit tracing the outer rim of his port, his other servo setting a considerable pace on his spike. 

"Would you fist me again?"

_Oh, slag._

Rodimus had to actually halt all movement of his hands to stave off the way he heated all too quickly with the potential crescendo of overload. His fans whirred in overdrive, desperate to dump as much heat from Rodimus' lust-riddled frame as possible, but to very little avail. 

"Yes, yes, Primus, yes," Rodimus all but whined, hips bucking hungrily as he switched to a lighter brush over his anterior node, "frag, you have no idea how badly I want to fist you again. You pull the most gorgeous faces when you're- nnh- stretched that wide." 

All too quickly Rodimus found himself resting on that precipice, something hot and heavy lingering in his hips as he fragged himself, valve walls squeezing down on the 3 digits he'd pressed in, spike twitching helplessly against the non-ending pump of his servo. He wasn't going to last very long, not at all, and Drift wasn't-

"Just a little more, Rodimus, please, I'm so _close_." 

Oh, Drift was close too, thank Primus. 

Concern set aside, Rodimus went in, lust-addled brain grasping for words to act as his killer app. 

Reigning in his voice and trying his best to approximate the low, purring, sultry tone he could only really pull off when he wasn't stupidly close to overload, Rodimus decided to just go for it.

"You might look hot as the pit when you're stretched around my fist, but y'know what? You look even better when you're overloading." 

Now that did the trick, with Drift bleating out Rodimus' name in amongst a string of static and moaning and an interesting mix of curses and blessings, a sound Rodimus knew all too well. 

(If he weren't so worked up Rodimus may have mourned the vocal link not picking up on the incessant way Drift's engine revved when he was in overload.) 

And there was that thought again - Rodimus did that with his voice, his words! His words made Drift overload, that was _him_ \- and with that, Rodimus was unceremoniously dumped over the edge, charge blurring the edges of his vision as his back arched, spike twitching as he spilled silvery pink transfluid over his abdomen and the thigh he had propped up. 

Oh yeah, that hit the spot. 

As the fogginess cleared from his processor, the first thing Rodimus tuned in to was...Snickering. Not Drift checking in on him, not light panting, but _snickering_. 

"What?" He asked obstinately, a strange sort of self consciousness dampening his post-overload glow. Had he said something weird in the throes of passion or something? (Wouldn't be the first time, admittedly.) 

"I told you I wasn't a bad liar," Drift snorted, smugness evident in his voice. 

" _What?_ "

"Remember that time you needed someone to give an excuse to Mags, and you purposefully told me I couldn't do it, because I'm a terrible liar, and he'd see right through me?"

Rodimus let his brow furrow, until his mind handily put together what Drift was getting at and handed it to him. Oh. _Oh!_

"Wait, so let me get this straight. You constructed this entire fake situation to get me to dirty talk to you, because I called you a bad liar once?" By this point Rodimus found himself laughing, all tension leeching straight back out of his frame. Primus, Drift could be one hell of a dork. 

"Hey, I proved you wrong. But yeah! I've been in my habsuite the entire time," Drift was audibly grinning, a suggestion threaded into the latter part of his phrasing, and Rodimus sure as hell wasn't going to pass it up.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on my way over. Remind me to call you a bad liar more often."

**Author's Note:**

> don't ask me where the fisting came from that was NOT in the plan
> 
> feel free to come say hey! i'm @encoders on tumblr and @swinblurr on twitter! :')


End file.
